


Pieces

by littletechiebird



Series: Talonverse [1]
Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletechiebird/pseuds/littletechiebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All those years ago, he’d found his hope and his motivation. The surprises of how that man had inspired his choices were often even unknown to him for a time. Even after that had disappeared from his life, he’d still tried to stay on the same path he believed he’d take. Tim couldn’t come to understand how this had happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces

That night, he’d been scared too. 

 

_Being dragged to such a bizarre place that was so loud, and felt so dangerous. He’d been sure he wouldn’t like it. He begged his parents to take him home._

 

_But what did he know? He was a kid._

 

_“Is this your first time at the circus?”_

 

_Then.. there he was. The boy that was his parents’ solution to getting him comfortable with being at the circus. The boy who would quickly become the hero of his lifetime, his role model, and even a little bit of an obsession. Just a little. Once he’d seen those sparkling eyes so full of life, a smile so warm, Tim felt instantly grounded, safe, and could let go of the death grip he’d had on his father’s shirt. It wasn’t just that boy, but his whole family that was just as dazzling. Looking at them with how they stood, how they laughed, it somehow felt like those people could make anything possible. They would be able to conquer the world if they wanted to, and they could do it effortlessly. As for magic? He might believe it was possible if they were the ones to tell him or the ones to do it._

 

_“What’s your name?”_

 

_The boy was the one to invite him over and introduce him to each of them. He had been the one to invite him to sit on his knee when they snapped a picture. He had been the one to make a promise._

 

_“My act tonight, I’ll dedicate it to you! It’s gonna really be something special, so you’ve gotta stick around and watch. Promise?”_

 

_The arm that was secured around his back, the grin that seemed to be just for him, Tim felt special. Was he allowed to call this boy his friend? He’d never made a friend so quickly before. He nodded so eagerly and realized his cheeks had started to sting. He was pretty sure he’d never smiled this much before. It was an easy assumption since he had no idea when he’d started._

 

_The biting logic that his mother had been working to instill in him was poking at the moment, trying to pop the blissful exchange as if it were simply a balloon or bubble._

 

_‘He has to be nice. You’re a guest, a customer. They want people to keep coming back. It’s business, just like Mother does.’_

 

_Yes, these people had to be magic. His fear had been lost somewhere along the way until he had forgotten he’d been scared at all and that voice that normally screamed in his ears until he listened, never became more than a buzzing whisper._

 

_The strangest thing had been when he watched them walk away, returning the wave they all gave him, not tearing his eyes away from their retreating figures even as his father scooped him back up for them to return to their seats. He’d watched them until they disappeared behind the large curtains that led back stage. He refused to tear himself away from that very sight until they came back out again._

 

_They were suddenly all he wanted to see._

 

_The Flying Graysons... They were famous, he knew. He’d never seen them perform, so he had no idea what he was in for. He knew what acrobats were capable of, but he already knew these people were something else. So just what did they have in store? Would they make him believe in magic?_

 

The mind could be a truly irritating thing. To show him such a thing in a moment like this. He couldn’t be wasting the time to drift in and out of consciousness with a hand at his neck, crushing his windpipe, making his lungs fight for the right to breathe. He felt his vision swim behind his mask, hands wrapped around the gauntlet covered wrists of the monster, or man, that had him pinned to the ground, a cool, fresh blade pressing to the underside of his chin. There was no magic here, there was only a threat to his life. A threat that had been so cooly announced as if it had already been decided and would easily come to pass.

 

He had to admit, this guy wasn’t easy to stop. He seemed to be trained rather well. But he’d never seen anyone like him. A metallic mask in the guise of an owl. That was the only thing to catch the light around them, the rest of his body being draped in pure black. That wasn’t the worst thing though. He seemed to be in possession of a small arsenal to choose from when it came from what to use against him.

 

_Beware the Court of Owls,_

_that watches all the time,_

_ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch,_

_behind granite and lime._

_They watch you at your hearth,_

_they watch you in your bed,_

_speak not a whispered word of them,_

_or they'll send The Talon for your head._

 

The Court of Owls. He’d heard of that lullaby, read to him by his mother. As he’d grown, he came to the conclusion that it was just one of her ways she had chosen to keep him in line. She seemed to prefer to keep him scared. He caused less trouble that way, when she was actually around.

 

“You know, I never said anything about the Owls.” He croaked as the hand loosened. He winced as he felt the blade cut into his skin. It was shallow. He wasn’t concerned. Maybe he should’ve been with the path of smart remarks he seemed to be choosing. That wasn’t always a choice, though. It had been a default with the first Robin and the second.

 

“So what did I do to earn my special, personalized death sentence from the Court?”

 

“You interfered.”

 

A brow quirked beneath the mask. That voice was much smoother than it had been for the damning announcement he’d voiced earlier. Something about it made him pause, only for a moment. 

 

He was fighting to survive. He needed to move.

 

Pushing his knees up and together, he jammed them against the torso of the Talon, arms moving into place to grasp the wrists of the man and pull the blade from his neck as he threw him over his head. Tim drew himself up and turned, drawing back to give himself space between him and the Talon. He hadn’t even heard a grunt as he’d moved and struck back against his opponent. It had been as if he hadn’t felt a single thing.

 

Standing to face his would-be murderer, he watched him stand again, staring at him through that mask that showed not a thing. He tossed his knife aside and reached for the back of his belt. Dropping to a defensive position and drawing his bo staff, Tim only watched as he armed himself with a different weapon and dropped into a similar ready position.

 

Escrima sticks were the weapon of choice for this round.

 

A chill ran up Tim’s spine, hands tightening around the staff. 

 

“Robin.”

 

Suddenly, he was wishing that he and Bruce hadn’t split up for patrol. This wasn’t right. So much about it wasn’t right, and this was something he had never expected to face. More than being scared, he was so curious. He had questions but he didn’t have the upper hand to be able to investigate.

 

He didn’t have that at all.

 

“Timothy Drake. The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”


End file.
